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■ '.■• • ■, ■.■‘1 .M / 













“then GKANNY told BRIDGET FAIRY TALES 





FRIENDS OF OURS 


BY 

ELIZABETH COLSON 

»* 


ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
FLORENCE LILEY YOUNG 


NEW YORK 

MISSIONARY EDUCATION MOVEMENT 
OF THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA 

1918 



COPYRIGHT, 19l8, BY 

MISSIONARY EDUCATION MOVEMENT OF THE 
UNITED STATES AND CANADA 



e 

t, 

e 

♦ 


AUG 19 1918 


©CI.A501503 



/t^ \ 


\ 


TO 

F. W. D. 



CONTENTS 


PAGE 

A Secret Door Flies Open 1 

Bridget and the Blue Flowers .... 9 

The Cup Vine 17 

Happy Jung Lu 23 

Far-away Helpers 31 

The Medal 39 

The Palm Tree Village 47 

A Christmas Party 53 

The Kanger . . . . . . . .61 

The Queen’s Tree 69 

The Flag-maker 75 

Birthday Candlelight 83 



ILLUSTRATIONS 


“then granny told BRIDGET FAIRY TALES” 

Frontispiece 

‘‘it was one of the pink ones” 

“even when they had no money for candy 

IT WAS FUN TO WATCH ” . . . . 

“it was only uncle Steve” . . . . 

“iSHMA DROPPED GREAT HEAVY BUNCHES OF 
DxYTES ” 

“l BROUGHT THE TREE ALL THE WAY IN MY 
SLEIGH ” 

“do you like chocolate?” . . . . 

“it’s a sort of service flag, you see” . 


PAGE 


18 / 

/ 

/ 


24 

34 


48 


/ 


58 / 


70 

80 


/ 





A SECRET DOOR FLIES OPEN 


rriWO children were wandering through 
^ deep valleys with steep, high moun- 
tains of books rising on either hand. They 
thought it a stupid place with nothing to 
look at but the backs of books. 

‘‘What a big library this is!” said the boy. 

“Don’t call it a library; we’ll call it ‘the 
mountains’ and make believe we are camping 
in the valley,” said the girl. 

“I know a better game than that,” answered 
the boy. “ You look till you find your name 
on one of these books, and I’ll look for mine. 
See who can do it first.” 

But the boy looked at every book in the 
row, and every name began with T, so of 
course he did not find “Billy,” for that was 
his name. 

Billy kept meeting and crowding past his 
sister, for she too was looking for B. Just 


1 


2 


Friends of Ours 


as they were ready to give up, the bac'k of 
one of the books flew open and out came a 
Spirit. 

‘^Can I do anything for you?’^ he asked. 
‘‘I am the Spirit of this book, the Spirit of 
Friendliness is my name.’’ 

‘‘No, thank you,” said Billy. “We are 
waiting for our aunt. Pretty soon she will 
stop reading and take us home.” 

“Perhaps,” said the Spirit of Friendliness, 
“you would like to hear about some of the 
good friends in this book while you wait.” 

''Whose friends? ” asked Billy. 

“Why, the friends of the people for whom 
they did things,” answered the Spirit. 

“What kind of things did they do?” asked 
Billy. 

“Why, my dear boy, the things that make 
people happy, of course.” The Spirit seemed 
surprised. “The first story in my book will 
show you what I mean. It is the story of 
Bertha.” 

“Why, that’s my name!” exclaimed the 


A Secret Door Flies Open 


3 


little girl. ‘‘Open the book and let me see! 
I looked for it everywhere!” 

“I can tell you every story in my book 
without opening it once,” said the Spirit. 
“To begin with, the word Bertha means 
dazzling white, and Bertha was a beautiful, 
friendly queen. She taught her people to 
spin, and she spun so much for them herself 
that even when she went riding a distaff or 
stick with a bunch of flax twisted on it was 
fastened to the pommel of her saddle, and 
as she rode along she twisted and twisted the 
whole bunch into a long thread.” 

“I suppose there were no machines in those 
days,” said Billy; “that is why they spun all 
the time.” 

“And why it was such a help to the people 
to have the queen work, too,” added the 
Spirit of Friendliness. “But nearly every- 
body had spinning wheels in their homes. 
The work went faster with a wheel to help. 
Bertha did so many good things that her 
people loved her very much, and although all 


4 


Friends of Ours 


this happened eleven hundred years ago and 
more, they still talk about her, and they have 
put her in some of their songs. They call 
the little capes they wear ‘Berthas’ because 
they are like those she used to weave. It’s 
very wonderful to have good friends, isn’t 
if?” and the Spirit looked at Billy. 

“We haven’t any friends,” said Billy. 
“We have just come here to live with our 
aunt. Our mother and father are in China.” 

“Oh, I mean the Queen Bertha kind of 
friends,” explained the Spirit. “We could 
not get away from the people who make us 
happy even if we lived on a desert island.” 

“Eobinson Crusoe did,” said Billy. 

“As I remember the story,” said the Spirit, 
“things kept floating to shore that he was 
very glad to get, and they were things that 
men had made. There! I thought so,” and 
the Spirit pointed to a handkerchief that was 
peeping out of Billy’s pocket. “Somebody 
had to spin the flax for that handkerchief, 
didn’t theyl You need a handkerchief, don’t 


A Secret Door Flies Open 


5 


you? Wasn’t that a friendly thing to do? 
There may be some friendly person spinning 
for you at this very minute. I wish I could 
tell you more about the collection of friends 
in my book, but ” 

‘‘Collection?” said Billy, “I make collec- 
tions. I collected shells last summer, and now 
I am collecting stamps.” 

“Then you could make a list of the friends 
who do things for you, and you would have 
another collection, and a big one, too!” 

The little door began to close when Billy 
said: “Before you go, please tell me how to 
open the back doors of books.” 

“You cannot find the back doors,” said the 
Spirit; “they are secret. But if you will 
open the front door of a book and read a bit, 
you will soon come upon the spirit of it.” 

Then the door closed, and there was some- 
thing about the closing of it that made them 
think of the cuckoo clock in the hall at their 
grandmother’s. 

When their aunt came to take them home, 


6 


Friends of Otirs 


Bertha said, Auntie Bess, we have found 
the friendliest book! It’s this one. It’s full 
of stories, may we look at it?” Auntie Bess 
took it off the shelf and opened it. 

‘‘The first story is about a queen with your 
name, Bertha,” she said. 

“Yes,” said Bertha. “Bead it to me.” 

“I can’t read it all to-day, for it is a long 
story. But there is a song her people sang 
for many years as they did their spinning:” 

WHEEL SONG 

‘‘Just as we spin, of old, ’tis said, 

Queen Bertha used to twine the thread, 

And with our wheel and merry song, 

Winter's dark hours fly blithely on. 

“When my neighbor comes at night, 

With her work, around the light. 

Round the blazing Are we gather. 

And we sing and spin together. 

“Whilst I twist the whistling thread. 

The daily task is quickly said; 

And then my little, happy boy 
Frisks round my wheel in careless joy. 


A Secret Door Flies Open 


7 


“Oil your wheel, that turning round 
It may make no creaking sound; 
Oil of friendship is the oil, 
Sweetener that, of every toil.’’ 





BRIDGET AND THE BLUE FLOV/ERS 


Yy^HEN Bridget was a little girl she lived 
in Ireland. She wore a little green and 
red plaid shawl around her shoulders. Every 
other day she went to school, and on the days 
between she went to the flax mill and spun 
flne thread. She stood all day and worked a 
treadle with her little bare feet as she twisted 
the thread with her hands. Bridget won- 
dered why. She could not think how so 
much flne thread could be used. 

When she went home at night and ate 
her potato with Granny the hens came into 
the cottage. They hoped that a bit might be 
dropped for them, or that Bridget would 
share the skin of her potato with them. Then 
Granny told Bridget fairy tales while her 
knitting-needles flashed and clicked. When 
Bridget climbed the ladder to her little bed 
in the loft she could hear the swallows talk- 
9 


10 


Friends of Ours 


ing together, for their nests were in the loft, 
too. In summer the wasj^s buzzed in and 
out between the cracks. 

On Sunday Granny and Bridget always 
went to the chapel. The windows were made 
of painted glass, and in each window there 
was a picture. The window with the picture 
of the child Jesus and Mary, his mother, 
was the one that Bridget loved best. When 
the sun shone through the glass, the painted 
sky sparkled and the blue of Mary’s gown 
was bright and beautiful. The stone floor 
was covered with patches of soft colored 
light. 

When Spring came the flelds where the flax 
grew were blue with blossoms. They were as 
blue as the sky, and much bluer than the 
ocean. The air was fresh, and the world, as 
far as Bridget could see, was a beautiful 
sight. 

The air in the mill was filled with dust. 
The machines hummed and the straps 
slapped. The straps turned the spinning 


Bridget and the Blue Floivers 


11 


wheels, and thread, that had been just 
bunches of flax a minute before, came spilling 
off the wheels. There was a child at each 
wheel to guide the thread and keep it from 
tangling as other wheels wound it on great 
spools. 

Bridget wanted to run to the blue fields. 
Slie looked down the rows of little girls 
who were working with her and wondered 
if they did not want to go to the blue fields, 
too. If only they could all go together! 

On one of these spring days, as she stood 
at her machine, Bridget saw a princess out 
of Granny’s fairy tales coming toward her. 
No, after all, it was only a little girl, and yet 
there were silver buckles on her shoes. 
Bridget stoj)ped treading and her thread 
snapped. She watched the owner of the 
mill as he showed the little girl how the spin- 
ning was done. Bridget heard him say : 
^^You must see the flax in blossom. I will 
send a child to show you the fields. Bridget!” 

Bridget courtesied. The little girl took 


12 


Friends of Ours 


Bridget’s hand, and they went out through 
the factory yard to the road. If Granny 
had been there she would have asked: ^‘Is it 
your tongue that is lost entirely For 
Bridget did not say a word. But she looked 
at the little girl and smiled, and the little 
girl smiled back. 

Soon they could see the blue fields and 
the little girl cried: ‘‘How lovely! What 
beautiful stuff to work with!” 

Bridget was puzzled. “Is it the threads 
you mean? See, the threads come from the 
stems,” and she pulled out the long silvery 
fibers. “It is a pity, it is, to spoil so many 
flowers.” 

The little girl took a handkerchief with a 
blue border from her pocket and gave it to 
her. Bridget had never seen one like it be- 
fore. It was too small to tie on one’s head 
and far too thin to keep one warm. Bridget 
felt of it. It was soft and cool. 

“Put it in your apron pocket, Bridget, I 
want you to keep it,” said the little girl. 


Bridget and the Blue Floivers 13 


“Somebody must have spun these threads. 
See, this is the way they go, over and under, 
over and under, so fine and so close together 
that you have to look carefully to see them. 
Now I must go back to the factory. My aunt 
will be waiting for me. We came from Bel- 
fast to see the linen mills, and it^s time that 
we started back.” 

“And is Belfast your home?” asked 
Bridget. 

“ No,” said the little girl, “my home is in 
America. I came across the ocean to visit my 
aunt.” 

The little girl told Bridget the name of the 
city in which she lived, and her own name, 
too, and Bridget said them over and over to 
herself, and did not forget them. 

That night Bridget went home to Granny 
with something pretty to show and a story 
to tell, and Granny said that it was like a 
fairy tale. Bridget thought about what the 
little girl with silver buckles on her shoes 
had said, and she looked very often at her 


14 


Friends of Ours 


tiny blue-bordered handkerchief which the 
little girl had given her. She could see quite 
plainly that it was made of fine threads 
woven together, over and under, over and 
under, and now she knew what the threads 
she helped to make were for. 

When Sunday came and Bridget went to 
the chapel with Granny, there was something 
in the picture she loved best that she had 
never seen before. The little child Jesus 
was wrapped in linen, soft and fine and very 
white. 

On the way home after service. Granny 
looked lovingly at Bridget and asked, “And 
what was it you were thinking, little one, sit- 
ting there so still, with a smile on your lip 
and a tear in your eye"?” 

“Sure, I was wishing,’’ said Bridget, “that 
I had been the child who spun the threads for 
the frock of the little Jesus.” 

“Can you guess who the little girl from. 
America was"?” asked Auntie Bess, after she 


Bridget and the Blue Floivers 


15 


had finished telling Billy and Bertha the 
story. 

‘‘Yon!” cried both children. 

“Yes,” said Auntie Bess, “and when 
Bridget grew up she came to America, and 
brought the little blue-bordered handkerchief 
with her. She remembered my name, and 
the name of the city, all that time. She came 
to see me, and I asked her to come and live 
with me and she did.” 

“You had better put Bridget in your col- 
lection of friends, Billy, and all the Irish 
people who spin for us, too,” said Bertha. 





THE CUP VINE 


B illy and Bertha had an uncle who had 
been around the world. His name was 
Stephen, and the children called him Uncle 
Steve. The children were very sorry that he 
was traveling in far-away countries when they 
went to live with Auntie Bess, for he told in- 
teresting stories and knew how to play a 
great many good games. However, they loved 
to read his letters, and the postman brought 
one from him every week. Sometimes it was 
for Billy and sometimes it was for Bertha, 
and very often it was addressed to Auntie 
Bess, who was Uncle Sieve’s sister. 

One day when Billy was in the kitchen 
drying dishes as Bridget washed them. Auntie 
Bess called, ‘‘Billy, here’s a letter for you 
from Uncle Steve.” Billy came and took 
the letter in his hand, but before he opened 
it he said: 


17 


18 


Friends of Ours 


‘‘Auntie Bess, I want to tell you right away 
that while I was drying the cups I broke one 
of them. It was one of the pink ones. I 
dropped it and the handle came off and flew 
under the table. I’m sorry.” 

Auntie Bess was sorry, too. The pink 
cups were very pretty, and they had been 
brought across the ocean from England when 
Auntie Bess was a little girl. But there was 
Uncle Steve’s letter written in England, and 
they opened it. This is part of what he said : 

“Yesterday I went to a factory where cipDS 
and saucers are made. I thought of you, 
Billy, when I saw the boy who made the 
handles. He had before him on a table 
little half molds which he fllled with moist 
clay, clapped together, and then jumped on 
them with all his weight. Not with his feet, 
but with both hands on the mold, he jumped 
from the floor and pressed his blouse against 
his hands. He told me he could mold twelve 
hundred cup handles in one day. Handle- 
makers are always boys and for the strangest 



i i 


7 > 


IT WAS ONE OF THE PINK ONES 





The Cup Vine 


19 


reason. Because a man would look funny 
jumping every few minutes! Boys, of course, 
jump all the time, so nothing is thought of 
it. I wished, as I looked at him, that the 
time would soon come when all boys could go 
to school and play and do their jumping out 
of doors as you do. I told the little handle- 
maker about you and showed him your pic- 
ture. I said that you would thank him for 
making handles for cups, for otherwise you 
would have burned your fingers very often. 
He smiled and gave me one of his little molds. 
‘It’s cracked,’ he said, ‘but it will show him 
how the handles are shaped.’ I have the 
mold in my pocket and will bring it home to 
you.” 

“Isn’t that great?” said Billy. 

“How strange!” said Auntie Bess, and 
they both laughed. After that Billy thought 
of the little handle-maker whenever a pink 
cup filled with cocoa stood beside his plate. 

“Do you know. Auntie Bess,” he said one 
day, “I am almost glad I broke that cup. 


20 


Friends of Ours 


If I hadn’t, Uncle Steve’s letter wouldn’t 
have seemed so wonderful.” 

All through the winter letters came from 
Uncle Steve, and then one day when it was 
spring there came another letter about cups. 
The letter was written in Egypt and was for 
Bertha. When she opened it, two flat, smooth 
seeds fell out. ‘Wou read it, please. Auntie 
Bess,” said Bertha, and while Auntie Bess 
read the letter Bertha listened, holding the 
seeds in her hand. This is the part that told 
about the seeds: 

‘‘Yesterday I went into a queer little shop. 
I wanted a rest from the hot, white glare of 
the sun. The man who kept the shop was a 
dark-faced Moor. He showed me some cups 
made of clay, and some melons or squashes 
called gourds. The gourds had been cut into 
drinking cups. They take out the seeds and 
the rind gets very hard as it dries. I felt 
sure that God had made the gourds so that 
when men saw them hanging on the vines 
they would know how to shape their cups 


The Cup Vine 


21 


of clay. The cups that grow on vines are 
much used here. One kind of gourd is called 
the Shepherd’s gourd. It is shaped like a 
bottle. The shepherds, and many other peo- 
ple who work in the hot sun, carry these 
gourds hanging from their belts, filled with 
water. I bought a clay cup which looks like 
a gourd for you. 

^‘The Moor and I could not say much to 
each other, so I took your picture out of my 
pocket. I pointed to it and then to the cup I 
had just bought. The Moor nodded, and I 
knew that he understood. A big gunny sack 
filled with seeds stood under the awning at the 
door of his little shop. The Moor put some of 
the seeds in my hand and pointed to them and 
then to your picture. I said: ‘Thank you,’ 
in the best way that I could and put the seeds 
in my pocket, for I knew that he was sending 
them to you. Now I am putting them into 
this letter. Plant them and see what hap- 
pens.” 

Bertha put the seeds carefully away. 


22 


Friends of Ours 


When they went to spend the summer in the 
country with their grandmother the children 
planted them in their own garden patch. 
The seeds sprouted and grew very fast into 
vines with big leaves. Big blossoms came, 
and then the gourds. It was just as Uncle 
Steve had said in his letter; they were very 
much like melons. One day when the gourds 
were turning yellow Uncle Steve came home. 
He laughed when he saw the gourds hanging 
on the vines, and showed the children how 
to turn them into cups. As they cut off the 
tops and scooped out the seeds Billy said: 
‘‘We have lots of friends now, haven’t we"? 
counting the Moor who sent Bertha the seeds 
and the boy who jumi^s on the cup handles.” 


HAPPY JUNG LU 


^HERE was once a boy whose name was 
Jung Lu. Jung Lu means happiness, 
and Jung Lu was a happy boy. He lived 
on Muddy River Street in a big city in China. 
A great many other children lived there, too. 
Every morning the people pushed the fronts 
of their shops aside as we open sliding doors. 
Then Jung Lu could watch the tailor sew 
and the baker bake. He could watch the 
idol-maker too, and that was interesting, for 
he made the gods that the people believed 
were true. He made idols for the temples 
and he made the door gods that hung on the 
outside of every house. The people thought 
that the door gods kept all sorts of troubles 
away. 

Jung Lu’s father and mother made lan- 
terns, and they had to make a great many if 
they were going to have money enough to 

33 


24 


Friends of Ours 


buy rice and little quilted coats for Jung 
Lu. The lanterns that they made were 
shaped like flowers and fruits. Some of 
them were in the shape of dragons and boats 
and houses. They made the frames of nar- 
row strips of bamboo and covered them with 
thin China silk or paper, and Jung Lu helped. 
Sometimes they painted pictures on the lan- 
terns. Some of the people in Muddy River 
Street made fireworks, and the children 
worked, too. They braided the fuses of the 
firecrackers together and pasted red labels on 
the packages. In some of the houses the 
people were busy making kites and fans. 
When the lanterns and fireworks, the kites 
and fans, were packed in boxes, they were 
sent across the Pacific Ocean to the United 
States. 

The candy man sometimes came to Muddy 
River Street. He carried a blue and white 
china bowl full of something very much like 
molasses candy before it is hard. The chil- 
dren crowded around him, for even when 



“even when they had no money for candy it was 

FUN TO WATCH ’ ’ 













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Happy Jung Lu 


25 


they had no money for candy it was fun to 
watch. 

One day when the candy man came Jung 
Lu had a little brass coin in his hand. He 
was going to buy candy. 

‘‘1 want my candy in the shape of a hen,” 
he said. The candy man dipped a long straw 
into the bowl and blew through the straw. 
The soft candy on the end of the straw became 
a little candy hen. 

Another child in the crowd had a brass 
coin. He said: choose to have my candy 

in the shape of a pig.’’ 

The candy man dipped another straw into 
the soft candy and blew it into the shape 
of a pig. He gave the straws to the children 
with the candy figures on the end, and they 
ate them as children sometimes eat lollipops. 

The children of Muddy Kiver Street played 
Blind Man’s Buff, and ball, and a game they 
loved named ‘‘Cat Catching Mice.” Some- 
times the children heard a whistle and a soft 
tap, tap, tapping. Then they would run, for 


26 


Friends of Ours 


they knew that the story-teller was coming. 
The Chinese story-teller was a blind man. 
He felt his way by tapping with his bamboo 
cane, and he blew his whistle to let the peo- 
ple know that he was coming. When the 
children were gathered around him he told 
them fairy stories and stories of the Chinese 
wars. If the fathers and mothers could leave 
their work they came and listened, too. 
Everybody loved the stories that the story- 
teller told. 

Not far from Muddy River Street there 
was a red brick house. It was the only brick 
house that Jung Lu had ever seen. Some 
teachers from America lived there. Two of 
these teachers were the father and mother 
that Bertha and Billy missed so much. They 
had gone to China to teach, and Jung Lu 
loved them dearly. 

Billy’s father sometimes went to Muddy 
River Street to tell stories. They were not 
like the stories that the blind story-teller 
told. They were about God, our Heavenly 


Happy Jung Lu 


27 


Father, and his love for all the children in 
the world. Jung Lu listened to every word. 
When Billy’s father walked on, Jung Lu fol- 
lowed, hoping to hear him tell stories again. 
Once when Billy’s father came to Muddy 
River Street Jung Lu ran and called his 
father to come. They listened to the stories 
together. 

When the American teacher saw how much 
Jung Lu and his father liked the stories he 
invited them to come to the brick house. 
There they heard more stories told. They 
went very often to the brick house, and then 
one day Jung Lu’s father took the door gods 
away from the front of their house. The 
baker and the tailor and the idol-maker all 
came and asked: “Where are your door 
gods? You will surely be ill!” 

“We are not afraid,” said Jung Lu. “We 
have but one God now, and he is our 
Heavenly Father.” 

“He is yours, too,” said Jung Lu’s father. 
“If you will go to the brick house where the 


28 


Friends of Ours 


American teachers live you will hear about 
him.” 

‘‘Shall we go to the brick house?” asked 
the baker. 

“Yes, yes,” said the tailor. 

“Let us go now,” said the idol-maker. 

And Jung Lu went with them to show them 
the way. 

Billy and Bertha were spending the sum- 
mer in the country with Grandfather and 
Grandmother. Uncle Steve came from the 
city to help them to celebrate the Fourth of 
July. He brought a big box with him, and 
Billy helped him to unpack it. In it were 
lanterns of ditferent shapes and colors. They 
hung them on the porch and on the low 
branches of the big tree near the steps. 
There were kites and fireworks in that box, 
too. There was a kite shaped like a bird 
for Billy, and a kite shaped like a bat for 
David, who lived next door. Wlien evening 
came Uncle Steve lighted the lanterns and 


Happy Jung Lu 


29 


they set off the fireworks. Everything that 
came out of the box that Uncle Steve brought 
had been made in China. 

Bertha ran to her grandmother and said, 
‘^Grandma, do you suppose that any of 
these lanterns were made in Muddy River 
Street'?” 

‘‘You will have to tell me about Muddy 
River Street, Bertha,” said Grandmother, 
“for I never heard of it before.” 

“Well,” said Bertha, “Mother and Father 
have told us in their letters that there is a 
street in the city where they live named 
Muddy River Street. They know a boy who 
lives there. His name is Jung Lu, and 
Father says that means happiness. I am 
sure it makes him happy to go and see Father 
and Mother. Mother says he loves to go to 
the brick house. Jung Lu’s father and 
mother make lanterns, and Jung Lu helps. 
Lots of mothers and fathers and children 
make lanterns, and kites, and fireworks, too. 
If we knew who made all these things we 


30 


Friends of Ours 


could write and thank them, because we have 
had such a lovely time.” 

“It is just possible that Jung Lu helped 
to make these lanterns,” said Grandmother. 
“If you like, you may send him a message in 
the letter we are going to write to your 
mother to-morrow.” 

“And we can ask Jung Lu to thank the 
others for us,” said Bertha. 


FAR-AWAY HELPERS 


J^AVID lived next door to Billy’s grand- 
mother. Billy and David had played 
together every summer since they were ba- 
bies, and now David was nine and Billy was 
eight, going on nine. 

It was autumn, and Auntie Bess, and Billy, 
and Bertha had gone back to the city. Grand- 
father had promised to let Billy know when 
the frost had opened the chestnut-burrs, and 
he was to go to the country again to gather 
chestnuts with David. Grandfather always 
kept his promises so the letter came. On a 
bright frosty day, Billy was met at the rail- 
road station by Uncle Steve. 

It was not long before David and Billy 
were planning to go to the chestnut grove. 
David thought it would be fun to camp out 
all night. Billy thought so, too. 

When they told Uncle Steve, he asked: 

31 


32 


Friends of Ours 


‘‘Do you know where you will camp?” 

“Yes,” said David, “just at the far end of 
the pasture on this side of the chestnut grove. 
There is a ledge of rock there and a fine place 
for a fire.” 

“Well,” said Uncle Steve, “take some 
gunny sacks and plenty of matches.” When 
the boys went to the store to ask for gunny 
sacks, Mr. Robinson, the grocer, was taking 
an order. While they waited they counted a 
dozen of the coarse burlap sacks in a row 
against the wall; they were filled with po- 
tatoes, coffee, walnuts, cabbages, and beans, 
red, black, and white. When his customer 
had gone Mr. Robinson brought two of the 
gunny sacks and showed the boys how to fix 
a cord so that they could carry the sacks as 
a postman carries his wallet. 

“These sacks will hold all the nuts that you 
will care to carry home, I guess,” said Mr. 
Robinson. 

“We want a lot of nuts,” said Billy. “I 
want to send some to my cousins out in Ne- 


Far-aivay Helpers 


33 


braska. There are no chestnut trees out 
there. They go nutting for walnuts and last 
year they sent me some.’’ 

“ If I were you, I would send two or three 
of the nuts in the burrs. Perhaps they have 
never seen a chestnut-burr,” suggested Mr. 
Robinson. 

The boys found that the gunny sacks were 
large enough to hold raincoats, and bacon, 
and potatoes, and a great many other things. 
They reached the place where they meant to 
camp and stored everything but their gunny 
sacks under the ledge of rock. Then they 
went on to the chestnut grove. When they 
had gathered a great many nuts the woods 
began to grow more shady. They went to 
their camping place and built a fire. But 
their supper was not very good, for they 
burned the potatoes, and the bacon was slip- 
pery and fell into the fire. Then both boys 
thought it was time to go to sleep, but they 
kept on throwing sticks on the fire. Every 
time the wood snapped the boys jumped. 


34 


Friends of Ours 


After a long, long time, they heard a pad, 
13ad, padding, and Billy whispered, ‘^Foot- 
steps!” It was only Uncle Steve, for there 
he stood on the ledge of rock. 

“Had supper?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said David. 

“No,” said Billy. 

Uncle Steve had a gunny sack, too, and he 
began to take things out of it. He had 
camped in the Rocky Mountains. He knew 
how to camp anywhere, for he had been 
around the world. Very soon the boys were 
eating chicken sandwiches and a kettle of 
cocoa was heating over the fire. Uncle Steve 
had his poncho and some blankets with him. 

When the three campers were ready for 
the night, with the dark blue sky high above 
them. Uncle Steve asked: 

“ Boys, are your gunny sacks full of chest- 
nuts?” 

“No,” said Billy. 

“But they sag a little,” said David, pick- 
ing up one of the sacks and dropping it again. 



i i 


? y 


IT WAS ONLY UNCLE STEVE 






Far-away Helpers 


35 


‘‘Those sacks make me think of India. 
You didn’t know the people of India helped 
make those sacks for you, did you"?” asked 
Uncle Steve. 

“What do they make them of?” asked 
Billy. 

“Jute,” said Uncle Steve. 

“What’s jute?” asked David. 

“It’s the fiber of a plant like flax. The 
fiber is much coarser and stronger, though. 
The plant grows high and has big leaves.” 

“How big?” asked Billy. 

“Some of the leaves are three feet long. 
The fibers make such strong bags that quite 
heavy, valuable things are carried in them.” 

“Camping outfits,” said David. 

“And chestnuts,” said Billy. 

“Although the plant is large it starts small, 
and there are from fifty to a hundred differ- 
ent kinds of weeds ready to spring up and 
choke it. The Hindus who work in the jute, 
fields weed patiently for hours and hours.” 

“What’s a Hindu?” ask^d David. 


36 


Friends of Ours 


‘‘Well/’ said Uncle Steve, “India is a 
large country and the Hindus are one of the 
peoples who live there. You can almost 
always tell a Hindu by the marks on his 
forehead. They mark their foreheads every 
morning with a sign that shows what god 
they worship.” 

“Did you see them?” asked David. 

“Yes,” said Uncle Steve, “and I saw the 
little villages where the Hindus who grow 
the jute live. Their huts are made of mud. 
There is one well in the village, and every 
one goes there to draw water. It’s all the 
water they have. The women go to the well, 
and if they pass a temple on the way they 
leave a few flowers or some food for the 
idol. The idol is their god.” 

“Idols can’t eat,” said David. 

“They can’t do anything,” said Billy. 

“That’s one of the things the teachers go 
out there to tell them,” said Uncle Steve. 
“The people in India are afraid of a great 
many things, just because they do not under- 


Far-aivay Helpers 


37 


stand. They are afraid that if they don’t 
take things to the idols they won’t have any 
crops. When the teachers tell them about 
the Heavenly Father, they are not afraid 
any more.” 

should say not,” said Billy. ‘Ht’s very 
different knowing that the Heavenly Father 
is taking care of yen. It must be awful 
to think you’ve got to depend on idols that 
are just wood or stone.” 

wish that you could see some of my 
boy friends in India weed the jute,” said 
Uncle Steve. ^‘They kneel on little mats and 
work with their faces toward the wind. Then 
when they press the plants down to find the 
weeds the wind helps the plants to rise 
again.” 

^‘They must press the plants away from 
them,” said David. 

‘‘Of course,” said Billy. “Isn’t it funny 
about the wind? You can see what it does 
but you can’t see it/' 

“That is the way we see the Heavenly 


38 


Friends of Ours 


Father,’’ said Uncle Steve. “We see the 
things that he does.” 

“I’m glad you told the little Hindu boys 
about him,” said David. 

After that they were still enough to have 
heard a beetle creeping home, if all the 
beetles had not been at home and asleep 
already. 


THE MEDAL 


gILLY and Bertha stood on the curb wait- 
ing to cross the avenue on their way to 
school. It was the first time that they had 
gone to school without Auntie Bess, and they 
thought they had never seen so many auto- 
mobiles before. Every sort of car and wagon 
whizzed by, and the children waited. 

An officer stood in the center of the drive, 
and as the children watched him he turned 
a handle in the signal stand. Every car and 
wagon stopped. Then the children with a 
great many other people crossed, and Billy 
said ‘^Everybody seems to mind that officer. 
I’d like to ask him some questions.” 

On Sunday morning when the children 
reached the avenue on their way to Sunday- 
school there were very few automobiles com- 
ing and going. 

‘‘Why don’t you ask the officer your ques- 

39 


40 


Friends of Ours 


tions?’’ said Bertha. “It’s Sunday and he 
isn’t doing much.” 

Just then the officer beckoned to them, and 
they went as far as the safety-zone and 
stopiDed. Bertha smiled and said to the 
officer, 

“Billy wants to ask you some questions. 
He always asks questions.” 

“I’m glad he wants to ask me questions,” 
said the officer. “The more he knows about 
crossing the avenue the safer he will be. 
I’m here to take care of you, but if you are 
careless or do not understand, you may be 
hurt. ’ ’ 

“Everybody minds you, don’t they? ” asked 
Billy. 

The officer was looking at a car that the 
driver had left with its back wheels in the 
safety-zone. “The driver of that car does 
not mind. He parks his car in the wrong 
place. The space within these white lines is 
for people, not cars. Excuse me for a mo- 
ment.” 


The Medal 


41 


The officer hauled the car to the place 
where it should stand because the driver was 
not there to do it himself. He moved the 
car quite easily for he was big and strong. 

“They should remember that they would 
be glad to have their children safe in this 
zone,” he said, as he slapped the dust from 
his gloves. 

“ That’s like our verse,” said Bertha. 
“Do unto others as you would that they 
should do to you. It’s out of the Bible.” 

“It’s a mighty good rule,” said the officer. 

“How do you make these white lines so 
straight?” asked Billy. 

“They use a lawn tennis court marker for 
that.” (The officer could answer all of 
Billy’s questions. It was very interesting to 
talk with him.) “Painting asphalt is dif- 
ferent from painting grass or gravel, so they 
put a paint brush in the opening from which 
the paint flows. It paints as the machine 
moves along. When the rain or the people’s 
feet wear the white line away, I have it 


42 


Friends of Ours 


marked again. In some cities they have 
raised places in the middle of the broad ave- 
nues. They call them isles of safety. Peo- 
ple are safe if they stand there. IPs like an 
island in a sea of rushing automobiles. Of 
course they do something to make the people 
safe in every city, and here we use white 
lines.” 

^‘The signal stand is big, when you get 
close to it,” said Billy. 

^‘It has to be high enough for everybody 
to see. The base that supports it weighs 
fifty pounds. The plate at the top of the 
pipe is called the target. Now you know 
that a target is a thing to shoot at, so re- 
member to shoot a glance at it before you 
start to cross the street.” Billy and Bertha 
laughed. 

‘‘I’m glad that ‘Stop’ and ‘Go’ are such 
easy words,” said Bertha. “Everybody can 
read them.” 

“Not everybody,” and the officer shook his 
head. “People cross this avenue when they 


The Medal 


43 


have been in America a very short time, and 
cannot read a word of our language. I watch 
for those people and make them as safe as 
I can.’’ 

The officer showed the children the handle 
in the pipe that held the target, and then he 
turned it, for he wanted to stop the cars that 
were coming. Some children were waiting 
to cross on their way to Sunday-school. Billy 
said, ‘‘Good-morning,” and Bertha said, 
“Thank you,” and they went on with the 
other children. 

One day, not long after their talk with the 
officer, Billy and Bertha stood waiting on the 
curb. The word on the target was “Go,” 
and automobiles were rushing up and down 
the avenue. They saw a little gray kitten 
cross the sidewalk. She jumped oft the curb 
and started to cross the street. She was very 
small and just the color of the asphalt. An 
automobile horn blew. The kitten stopped 
for a moment and went slowly on. 

Bertha screamed, “Hurry! Kitty!” and be- 


44 


Friends of Ours 


gan to cry. Billy called, ‘‘Officer! Officer! 
Oh, stop them, stop them!’’ 

The poor little frightened kitten seemed 
afraid to move and kept starting and stop- 
ping again. The officer turned the handle 
and the target said “Stop.” When the cars 
were standing still he picked up the kitten 
and Billy ran to him and said, “We had to 
save her.” 

“Of course,” said the officer, “where’s your 
sister ? ’ ’ 

Bertha stood on the curb, crying and 
frightened. The officer and Billy and the 
kitten went to her, and the cars stood wait- 
ing. Even those that were in the greatest 
hurry had to wait until the children were 
safely across. 

When Sunday came the children started 
early for Sunday-school, for they had some- 
thing very important to say to the officer. 
When he saw them coming he smiled and 
saluted. 

“Officer,” said Billy, “I told my teacher 


The Medal 


45 


about the day we saved the kitten. She 
said you were a hero and that you should 
have a medal. We couldn’t get a real medal 
but I want you to have this button. It has 
P. A. on it. That means Perfect Attendance. 
I got it in Sunday-school. But we will pre- 
tend that it means Perfect Attention. I wish 
the button had something on it about being 
brave. ’ ’ 

Stoop down and let me pin it on,” said 
Bertha. The officer stood very straight after 
the medal was pinned on his blue coat. 

am proud of this medal,” he said, as he 
touched the button on the lapel of his coat. 
‘‘When people ask me about it. I’ll say that 
I won it by obeying the Golden Rule.” 

“He is one of our very best friends,” said 
Billy as they went down the avenue. 



THE PALM TREE VILLAGE 


gOME Arab children lived with their fa- 
thers and mothers in a little village on 
the sandy desert. Date-palm trees shaded 
them from the hot sun. The trees grew be- 
cause a spring of clear water bubbled up 
through the sand and watered them. Out in 
the sun where the sand was dry there were 
no trees and no children. 

It was a pity that the people of that Arab 
village had no Bible. It would have been 
wonderful for the children to know how 
Moses led the children of Israel across their 
desert. The children of Israel may have 
pitched their tents and lived for a while 
around the spring that made the palm trees 
grow. It must have been hard for them 
to leave the shade and the cool spring when 
the pillar of cloud and fire moved on. In 
the desert wherever a spring overflowed and 
47 


48 


Friends of Ours 


watered the sand and trees grew, there was 
a village like the one I am telling you about. 

Great heavy bunches of dates grew on the 
trees near the top among the leaves. There 
were no branches or leaves on the tall straight 
trunks. One of the boys of the Palm Tree 
Village, whose name was Ishma, helped to 
gather the dates because he could climb to 
the top of the tallest tree. When the dates 
were ripe the men tied a rope around Ishma ’s 
body under his arms and around the tree, 
catching the loop as high as they could throw 
it over a rough scale-like place on the trunk 
of the tree where a palm leaf had been. 
Ishma sprang at the tree and pulling on the 
rope he walked up the trunk. When he had 
gone as far as he could with the rope where 
it was he threw the noose up to catch on an- 
other scale. He did this again and again 
until at last he disappeared among the palm 
leaves. 

Ishma ’s eyes shone when he saw the sweet, 
ripe dates. Under the tree four men were 



ISHMA DKOPPED GREAT HEAVY BUNCHES OP DATES’’ 


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The Palm Tree Village 


49 


holding a large cloth by the corners. We 
would have called it a rug. It was made of 
camel’s hair, and woven in strange figures 
and beautiful colors. Ishma dropped the 
great heavy bunches of dates into this, for the 
dates would have broken if he had thrown 
them on the ground. When the dates were 
all gathered the people of the village packed 
the largest and best in coverings made of 
strips of palm leaves woven together. They 
were getting them ready to send to America, 
and so they were careful to choose only very 
good ones. They laid the dates very evenly 
side by side, and pressed them close together. 

Dates were Ishma ’s breakfast, dinner, and 
supper. The little shelters in the village 
where he lived were made from the wood of 
palm trees. Ishma made baskets and brushes 
of the palm leaves. The rope that helped him 
climb the tall trees was made of strong shreds 
of the stems of palm leaves. 

One day Ishma saw a train of camels 
traveling across the sandy desert. He ran 


50 


Friends of Ours 


quickly and told his father, for he could see 
that the men on the camels were Arab trad- 
ers, who stopped at every little palm tree 
village and bought the dates and the rugs that 
the Arabs wanted to sell. Ishma’s father 
was glad, for he had dates to sell. The men 
of the village also brought out their best rugs, 
and chose the prettiest for the traders. The 
people of the Arab village did all of the 
weaving of the rugs with their hands. They 
made the pretty patterns too, and chose the 
colors. 

While the men got their wares ready, the 
women made coffee and brought water from 
the spring, for the traders would be thirsty 
and dusty. Islnna and his friends ran out 
from among the palm trees to watch the 
camels as they came nearer and nearer. 
Soon they could hear the tinkle of the little 
brass bells that were tied in the cords that 
harnessed the camels’ heads. 

When they reached the shade of the palm 
trees the camels kneeled. The traders dis- 


The Palm Tree Village 


51 


mounted and bargained with Ishma’s father 
and the other men. They gave them com- 
passes, soap, pocket-knives, and spools of 
thread for the rugs and dates. These were 
things that the Arabs were very glad to have, 
for there were no stores except those that 
were miles and miles away. 

The traders drank coffee and rested in the 
shade of the trees until the sun went down 
and it was cooler; then they fastened the 
great packs of dates to the saddles and laid 
the rugs across the backs of the camels. 

The camels knelt while the traders 
mounted; then the camels pitched forward 
and were on their knees. Forward, and back 
again, and the camels were on their feet, and 
the Arab traders were high in the air. 

The camels’ feet made no noise in the soft 
sand as they walked away ; the tinkle of little 
brass bells grew fainter and fainter. Ishma 
and his friends ran out from under the palm 
trees and watched the camels until they were 
out of sight. It was very still, for in that 


52 


Friends of Ours 


country of hot sun and yellow sand there are 
no birds to sing nor even a breeze to whisper. 

All that night the traders rode their camels 
on their way to the sea where ships were 
waiting to bring the dates and rugs to 
America. 

One chilly night Billy and Bertha had 
sweet sticky dates for supper. Before they 
went to bed they cuddled down on the rug 
before the fire, and asked Auntie Bess to 
tell them a story. The rug came from over 
the sea, and the story that she told was the 
one that you have just read. 


A CHRISTMAS PARTY 


jY^ARIE and her grown-up sister and their 
grandmother kept a baker’s shop near 
the post-office, and a row of fat, sweet cooky 
dolls in the store window invited every one 
who passed to come in and buy. Besides 
cooky dolls Julie sold cakes all sticky and 
sweet, and jelly almost as clear as glass. 
There were loaves of sweet, crusty bread a 
yard long, too. 

Behind the shop there was a big kitchen, 
where Julie and her grandmother made the 
good things and where Marie helped. The 
family came to America from their home in 
Prance when Marie was a baby. Marie and 
Julie were often lonely now, because their 
father had gone hack to France to be a sol- 
dier. Their mother had gone too, to nurse 
the wounded soldiers. Marie and Julie were 
glad that they could help, by taking good 

53 


54 


Friends of Ours 


care of Grandmother and the shop, until their 
mother and father came back to them. 

On the day before Christmas Marie’s 
friends Billy and Bertha arrived, in a heavy 
snow-storm, to spend the holidays with their 
grandmother and grandfather. That night 
as it was growing dark the children came 
through the deep snow to the little shop. 
They wanted to see Marie and Julie and to 
buy a cooky doll to put in their Uncle Steve’s 
sock. 

The shop was full of people. They talked 
about the company which they expected, and 
everybody wished everybody a happy Christ- 
mas, When they had gone Marie said, 
^Millie, what a happy Christmas Billy and 
Bertha will have! Their Uncle Steve is 
there, too, you know.” 

‘‘Yes,” said Julie, “their Uncle Steve came 
this afternoon and bought cooky dolls to put 
in their stockings.” 

As Julie closed the door for the night she 
said, “Everybody is having company. If 


A Christmas Party 


55 


only we could have a guest to-morrow ! Per- 
haps some one who is lonesome will come to 
us. I would like to make somebody happy 
for the sake of the dear Christ-child.’’ 

Julie!” said Marie, ‘‘do you truly think 
that some one may come I know ! To- 
morrow we will have dinner ready for five 
people. Then I will watch at the window 
and invite the first two people who look 
lonely to come in!” 

Julie laughed. “It’s a lovely plan,” she 
said, “and perhaps we can make it come 
true.” 

The next day Marie stood looking at the 
Christmas dinner table. “It’s almost ready, 
isn’t it, Julie"?” she said. “Now I will go 
and watch for the guests.” 

As Marie sat in the front window she 
knitted and wondered what her mother and 
father were doing so far away. The muffler 
that Marie was knitting was nearly finished. 
She had been patient enough to make it 
long and wide. It was made of gray wool. 


56 


Friends of Ours 


and some day it would keep a soldier warm. 
Before she had knitted across once, she saw 
a man passing by. A long red scarf was 
wound around the man’s neck and up over his 
mouth, but Marie could tell by looking at his 
eyes that he was kind. He looked hungrily 
at the goodies in the window. 

‘‘Julie! here he is!” called Marie. 

Julie came and opened the door. “Will 
you come in and have dinner with us?” she 
said. 

“You are very kind,” said the man with 
the scarf. “I thought I was not going to 
have any Christmas dinner.” He was soon 
sitting by the kitchen stove, and when Marie 
went back to the window a soldier was stand- 
ing on the walk reading the sign over the 
door. 

Marie opened the door and the soldier 
asked, “Is the store open to-day?” 

“No,” said Marie, “but come in for din- 
ner is ready.” 

Soon they were at the table and the man 


A Christmas Party 


57 


with the red scarf said, hope that the deep 
snow will not keep the children from the 
festival at the church to-night. I brought 
the tree all the way in my sleigh. When I 
got to the station, up in the woods, they told 
me that the snow had stopped the trains. I 
drove right down, for I wasn’t going to dis- 
appoint all those children. I left the tree at 
the church, and my horses are having their 
dinner at the stable. I was looking for 
something to eat when Marie called me.” 

‘‘I am so glad we are to have our tree!” 
said Marie. 

meant that you should,” said the Christ- 
mas-tree man. 

was on my way home,” said the soldier, 
‘‘but the train was stopped by the snow. I 
was hungry, so I started off to see what I 
could find, and here I am. I have been fight- 
ing in Prance but I was hurt, so they sent 
me home.” 

Marie and Julie knew that whoever fought 
for America, fought for France, too. They 


58 


Friends of Ours 


thanked him again and again. Marie ran 
and got her knitting. She finished her muffler 
while they talked about the war. Then she 
took it over to the soldier and wound it 
about his neck. 

^‘For France and America,” she said. 

Thank you,” said the soldier, and he told 
her of his own little girl. 

As it began to grow dark in Julie’s kitchen 
Billy’s Uncle Steve came to say, ‘‘Billy and 
David and I have shoveled the snow from 
your sidewalk, Julie. My! but it was deep! 
But the snowplows are out, and the trains 
are running. Bertha asked me to say that we 
would sto^D for you and Marie to-night on 
our way to the festival. The tree has come 
and it’s a beauty!” 

“Perhaps I can get home on Christmas 
day, after all,” said the soldier. 

“I will take you to the station at once,” 
said the Christmas-tree man. 

Soon the sleigh was at the door, the soldier 
put on his new muffler, the Christmas-tree 



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1 BKOUGHT TELE TREE ALL THE WAY IN MY SLEIGH 


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A Christmas Party 


59 


man picked up the reins. ^‘Good-by,’’ he 
said, “and a thousand thanks, for you have 
made Christmas very happy for me.” 

“Good-by,” said the soldier, “and thank 
you for your kindness and for every stitch 
in Marie’s muffler.” 

“Good-by,” “Good-by,” “Good-by,” said 
Marie and Julie and Grandmother, and they 
waved to them until the sleigh turned the 
corner. 

As they went to the festival that night 
Marie told Billy and Bertha about their 
guests. 

“I wish IV e had thought to do that, Uncle 
Steve,” said Billy. 

“Billy is making a collection of friends,” 
explained Bertha. 

“But,” said Marie, “they are your friends, 
too, Billy, you know. The soldier fought for 
you just as much as he did for us, and the 
Christmas-tree man said he wasn’t going to 
have all those children disappointed, and that 
means you and Bertha.” 


60 


Friends of Ours 


The tree was very beautiful, and the chil- 
dren thought of the soldier as they sang, 
^^And on earth peace and good-will to 


men. 


THE RANGER 


^TRAIN rushed through a great forest, 
and Billy, who was traveling with Uncle 
Steve, complained: ‘^Just trees! trees! on 
both sides of the car. I can’t see anything!” 

^^Why!” said Uncle Steve, ‘‘I can; I can 
see doors, and chairs, and boats, and books, 
and log fires, and matches. I can see nutting 
crooks and sleds and ” 

^^Oh!” said Billy, “you mean the wood in 
the trees.” 

“Yes; those things are still in the trees 
and some day we will want them very much.” 

Then in a flash the train was out of the 
shady woods and into sunshine. Billy could 
see a high mountain. 

“Look! Uncle Steve,” he shouted. “There 
is a man standing on the very top of that 
mountain. I think he is looking through 
field glasses. Did you see him?” 

61 


62 


Friends of Ours 


said Uncle Steve. ^‘He is a forest 
ranger. He is watching for forest fires. A 
spark from our engine might start one. Lean 
back and rest while I tell you a story.’’ 

“Once a fisherman went into the woods 
very early. He knew of a mountain stream 
which had trout in it. It was a summer 
morning and the forest was sweet and cool. 
The sun came up and woke the birds. The 
leaves on the big strong trees were as fresli 
as the fiowers and mushrooms. Squirrels and 
rabbits lived in the forest. Foxes and wild- 
cats lived there, too. The fisherman lighted 
his pipe. He threw the match on the ground 
and walked on. He did not look back, and 
after a while he found the stream and fished 
for trout. 

“The little spark in the head of the match 
did not go out. It grew and crept about 
among the pine needles. A little breeze found 
it and made it blaze up. The low branches of 
a tree caught fire. The fire fiew from tree to 
tree. Up, up it went nearly as high as the 


The Ranger 


63 


clouds; the air quivered and was full of 
smoke. The squirrels and rabbits, the foxes, 
and wildcats came out of their homes and ran 
and hopped. The foxes forgot that they 
wanted to eat the rabbits, and the squirrels 
forgot that they were afraid of the foxes. 
They all ran, and leaped, and rushed to- 
gether, with fire ! fire ! chasing them, and com- 
ing nearer and nearer. 

^^The men in a town near the forest saw 
the smoke and flames against the sky. They 
got their shovels and their pails, and started. 
It took them a long time to get there and the 
fire burned on and on. The men filled their 
pails with water from the stream. They 
could not put the Are out in that way. Their 
pails were too small and the stream was not 
deep. They threw away their pails and went 
to work digging a trench. They worked hard 
and fast. Their shovels flew. When the Are 
reached the trench it stopped spreading. 
When the sun went down the birds and ani- 
mals were gone, so were the leaves and flow- 


64 


Friends of Ours 


ers. Even the great strong trees were gone 
except for a black trunk here and there, with- 
out a branch or twig. The men were tired. 
One of them said: ^Some of these trees had 
been growing for a hundred years.’ 

‘‘Another said: ‘Think of the houses, the 
barns, the boats, and the fences that were 
burned in these trees!’ It made them very 
sad to look at the burnt place.” 

^‘Is that the end of the story'?” asked Billy. 

“No,” said Uncle Steve. “That is only the 
first part of the story. Lightning sometimes 
struck a tree and started a fire ; again sparks 
from the engines of trains lighted the dry 
pine cones. Boys camped out all night and 
went home the next day without being sure 
that their fires were out. 

“The people said: ‘We must not let our 
beautiful forests burn. The children all need 
wood, and when they grow up they will want 
it even more than they do now. ’ So men were 
sent to the tops of mountains to watch for 
fires. They were called forest rangers, and 


The Ranger 


65 


the man you saw looking through field glasses 
is one of them.’’ 

am glad I looked just at the right min- 
ute. I might not have seen him at all,” said 
Billy. ^‘What do they do, Uncle Steve, if 
their mountains are not high enough so they 
can see all around'?” 

‘‘They build towers of rough poles,” said 
Uncle Steve. “They fasten a ladder to one 
side and put a platform on the top. Then 
they climb up into their towers and look 
around. The rangers sometimes see a fire 
fifty miles away. On their horses they 
ride and ride for miles through the 
forest. 

“As soon as a ranger sees a curl of smoke 
among the trees he telephones. He tells the 
people on the farms and in the towns that are 
nearest the fire, just where it is. The men 
saddle their horses and start instantly for 
the fire. They do not take their pails and 
shovels. They know that here and there, 
through the forest, they will see big tool- 


66 


Friends of Ours 


chests, built against the trees. The men ride 
as far as they can; when they come to a trail 
that is narrow and tangled they leave the 
horses and hurry on, on foot, looking for the 
tool-chests as they go. The tool-chest is just 
where the ranger told them they would find 
it.’’ 

am going to watch for a tool-chest while 
you finish the story,” said Billy. 

“Do!” said Uncle Steve. “When the men 
find the tool-chest, they open it and take out 
axes, hoes, and shovels. Then they crash on, 
through the bushes and the brush, and put the 
fire out before it has had time to spread very 
far. Before the rangers began to take care 
of the forests the fires spread until they came 
to towns and cities. Then the towns and 
cities burned, too.” 

“We live near a forest, and our house is 
made of wood,” said Billy. 

“Yes,” said Uncle Steve, “but the ranger 
is watching. He is one of God’s heliDers and 
we are safe. And the boat we are going to 


The Ranger 


67 


build some day is safe, too, hidden away in 
some tree.’^ 

‘‘And the birds ’-nests, and the places where 
the squirrels and rabbits live,” said Billy. 


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THE QUEEN’S TREE 


A^HEN Billy and Bertha wanted to buy 
chocolate they went to Miss Duffy’s 
little shop. Miss Duffy kept books, dolls, 
rubber balls, and many other interesting 
things for sale, but the children nearly al- 
ways said, after looking about, ‘‘Chocolate, if 
you please. Miss Duffy.” 

As Miss Duffy opened the glass case and 
brought out the little cakes of chocolate cov- 
ered with tin-foil, she always asked, “Do 
you like chocolate 

“Yes, we do!” the children always an- 
swered. They knew that she would say next, 
“Why, so does the Queen!” 

If the Queen liked chocolate she had all she 
wanted, of course. Probably there was no 
bank on the nursery shelf, in the palace, wait- 
ing to be filled with unspent pennies. Miss 
Duffy came from England, and she was 


70 


Friends of Ours 


thinking of Queen Victoria. But the children 
thought of the Queen in their fairy book. 

The children knew that chocolate grew on 
trees in the far-away lands. Once as Bertha 
bit into her brown, oblong cake she said, 

‘‘Billy, let’s wonder if this chocolate came 
from the Queen’s tree.” So they imagined 
stories about the Queen’s tree until the choco- 
late was gone. 

One day in the spring the children were 
invited to spend the afternoon with their 
Sunday-school teacher. She had been travel- 
ing in the lands where it is always summer. 
She had brought home a gift for every child 
in the class. For Bertha there was a drink- 
ing-cup made from a gourd. Somebody in 
that far-away place had made it very beauti- 
ful for her by carving a picture of a camel 
and palm trees on its round sides. 

Bertha thought that the gourd cup was 
more wonderful than the basket that was 
given to Billy, although the basket was made 
of strips of palm leaves woven together. It 



‘‘do you like chocolate?” 




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The Qiieen^s Tree 


71 


was filled with chocolates, and when Billy 
opened it, the teacher said: do wish that 

you children had all been with me on the 
day that I saw" the chocolate trees. Cacao 
trees is their real name. Do you know that 
it takes a great many very careful people 
to make one little basket of chocolates'? The 
work begins before the chocolate trees are 
an inch high. I saw some dear little brown 
children seated on the ground, tearing palm 
leaves into strips, and weaving the strips 
into big coarse mats. Then I saw that the 
mats were used to shade the new little choco- 
late trees, or they would have withered and 
died in that hot sun. They told me that 
the little trees would not bear chocolate 
beans for six years, and yet all that time 
they have to be cared for. They must be 
shaded from the hottest sun, and sheltered 
from the strongest winds. Sometimes no rain 
falls and then they have to be watered. I 
always think of the brown children who weave 
the mats when I eat chocolate.” 


72 


Friends of Ours 


‘‘I will too, after this,’’ said Billy, ‘^for of 
course, if the sun dried up the little trees, 
there wouldn’t be any chocolate.” 

“Then there are the peoi^le who gather the 
great pods that hold the chocolate beans. 
They have to be very careful to do it just 
right, because if they do not know how or 
are careless they may hurt the tree and then 
no pods will grow.” 

“How big are the pods'?” asked Billy. 

“They are as big as melons, and they grow 
on the trunks of the trees as well as on the 
branches,” said their teacher. “You know 
how the seeds in a melon are covered with 
juicy pulp: The chocolate seeds are, too, and 
that has to be dried off. The people put the 
seeds in big trays, and rake them about in the 
sun, so that all will get a chance to dry. And 
all this is just a beginning. The little brown 
children who make the mats, and their fathers 
and mothers, are just a few of the people who 
help. There are people in France and Swit- 
zerland, and in our own country, too, working 


The Queen’’ s Tree 


73 


every day, to make the chocolate sweet and 
ready for us to eat.’’ 

‘‘And somebody wraps it in tin-foil, and 
somebody ties it with ribbons,” said Bertha. 

The teacher showed the children a photo- 
graph which she took on the day that she saw 
the chocolate trees. Billy and Bertha looked 
at it for a long time and found it very inter- 
esting. In the picture there was a shelter 
covered with rough mats made from loosely 
woven palm leaves shading rows and rows 
of little plants. Shiny brown children were 
weaving mats to shade the next little plants 
that appeared above the ground. In the back 
of the picture there was a tree. Great pods 
as big as melons were growing from the trunk 
and from the branches. It was a chocolate 
tree. 

Bertha pointed to the tree and said, “Billy, 
that may be our tree! I mean the Queen’s 
tree, and yours and mine.” 

That night they told Auntie Bess about the 
brown children, and Billy said, “We didn’t 


74 


Friends of Ours 


count up nearly all of the people who help 
with the chocolate. There are all of the crew 
on the ship that brings the chocolate from the 
hot country where it grows, and an express- 
man brings it to the store, — and there’s Miss 
Dulfy, too.” 

wonder if the Queen knows as much 
about chocolate as we do?” said Bertha. 


THE FLAG-MAKER 


QNE day in the fall, when the yellow 
leaves were so thick on the park paths 
that a child could scuff through them, a squir- 
rel sat on a bench. Beside him sat a man, 
and they both liked the warm noonday sun- 
shine. 

Billy walked across the park on his way 
home to lunch, and when he saw the squir- 
rel and the man he stopped to see what they 
were talking about. 

When Billy stopped the man moved to the 
end of the bench to make room for him to sit 
there, too. So did the squirrel. The little 
fat fellow looked so funny stepping sideways 
to make room for Billy that the man and 
Billy laughed. Then they were friends, and 
Billy sat down. 

“I just stopped to say a few words to this 
fellow on my way to work,’’ said the man. 

75 


76 


Friends of Ours 


‘‘I’m just going home from school/’ said 
Billy. “I’m in 2B. That’s my school with 
the flag flying, the other side of the park.” 

“That’s a flne flag on your school,” said 
the man. “ I ’m a flag-maker and I know. ' ’ 

“You are"?” exclaimed Billy. 

“Yes,” the man said. “I generally sew 
on the stars. It is nice work. I mean by 
that, that it has to be done exactly. Each star 
must have five fine sharp i^oints you know. 
I’ve sewed thousands of stars on hundreds of 
blue fields, and each star has been counted 
and placed and sewed as perfectly as I could 
do it. Sometimes they put me at binding the 
hoists.” 

“What’s a hoist asked Billy. 

“The hoist is the end of the flag that lies 
next the staff. That’s where the greatest 
strain comes. It’s got to be so strong that the 
biggest wind you ever knew can’t tear it 
away. The binding is of stiff, strong canvas. 
Then comes the work of attaching the lines 
and toggles by which the flag is to be made 


The Flag-maker 


77 


fast to the halyard. When I was a little 
fellow like you, I used to say that I would 
work for my country when I grew up. I 
thought of being an admiral on a battleship. 
But somehow IVe had no time to do much 
about getting to be an admiral because IVe 
been so busy making one of the finest flags 
afloat.” 

^^It’s the finest flag,” said Billy. ^‘No flag 
ever flies above it.” 

^^Now there, you are not just right,” said 
the flag-maker. 

Billy jumped up, and the squirrel scuttled 
away. Billy straightened his shoulders and 
shouted — ‘^Whatl” He was angry and sur- 
prised. 

agree with you that the American flag is 
grand, and we can’t treat it with too much 
respect. Nothing but the Bible should ever 
be placed on it, and everybody should stand 
and hats should come off when the flag goes 
by. But, all the same, there is another beau- 
tiful flag that sometimes flies above it, and 


78 


Friends of Ours 


I will say that it has a perfect right to be 
there.” 

‘^I’ll ask my grandfather about that,” 
said Billy. ‘‘He is a minister and he knows 
about everything.” 

“Do,” said the flag-maker. He looked at 
his big silver watch. A whistle blew. “ Good 
day. Captain,” and the flag-maker saluted 
Billy and went to work. 

Billy was glad to find that his grandfather 
had come to lunch with Auntie Bess, for he 
wanted to ask about that other flag. 

“Oh, Grandpa,” he said, “a man told me 
that there is a flag that has a right to fly 
above the red, white and blue. There isnT, is 
there % ’ ’ 

“Yes, there is,” said his grandfather. 
“When you were a very little boy you used 
to salute the American flag and say, ‘I give 
my heart and my hand to God and my coun- 
try.’ The man you talked with meant the 
flag of God’s kingdom. It is hoisted above 
the stars and stripes, for the same reason that 


The Flag-maker 


79 


you used to say ^God’ before you said ^my 
country.’ You are an American but first you 
are God’s boy. The fiag tells that a church 
service is being held aboard ship. It’s a 
white flag with a blue cross. If you see it, 
you must salute it, for it is your flag, just as 
truly as the American flag is yours. Who 
was the man you talked with about this?” 

^‘He is a flag-maker,” said Billy. ^‘He said 
he knew how to make the hoist end so strong 
that the biggest wind could not tear it.” 

^^He is doing something very fine for us,” 
said Billy’s grandfather. ‘‘He works day 
after day so that we may see the red, white, 
and blue very often, and are reminded to 
be good, brave, and true. ’ ’ 

The next day, when Billy crossed the park 
he was glad to find the flag-maker on the 
bench in the sun. 

“Any news about a flag that sometimes 
flies above the stars and stripes?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said Billy, “you were right.” 

The flag-maker bowed. He took from his 


80 


Friends of Ours 


pocket a small square of blue bunting with a 
white star in the center. 

‘‘I hoped that we would meet again, so I 
made this for you,’’ he said. ‘‘It’s a sort of 
service flag you see.” 

“Oh, thanks,” said Billy heartily. “I’ll 
hang this in my room. But I can’t really 
serve you know, for I’m a good deal under 
weight.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” said the flag-maker, 
“you are not a bit too small to serve under 
both flags. Ask your grandfather. He is an 
officer under the blue cross, you know, and he 
knows about everything.” 

A whistle blew. The flag-maker looked at 
his big silver watch. “That whistle means 
that it is time to go to work,” he said. “You 
ask your grandfather to bring you to the flag 
factory some day, then I can show you how 
flags are made, and you will see that a great 
many people are serving their country as I 
am.” 

“May my sister Bertha come to the fac- 



A SORT OF SERVICE FLAG, YOU SEE 



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The Flag-maker 


81 


tory, too'? She is a very good American/’ 
said Billy. 

^^Yes, indeed. I know that all the friends 
there would be glad to see her.”* 

Then Billy and the flag-maker shook hands 
and parted. 





BIRTHDAY CANDLELIGHT 


'Y^HEN Auntie Bess asked Bertha what 
she wanted to do on her birthday, she 
said, would like to have a picnic.” Auntie 
Bess looked doubtful, because Bertha’s birth- 
day came in January. 

^^A winter picnic. Auntie Bess,” said Ber- 
tha, right here by the fire.” 

So, when the day came, although it brought 
a blizzard, there was no talk of putting the 
picnic off until the next clear day, as we do 
in summer, and when it began to grow dark 
it was time to get ready. Billy put a log 
on the fire and Bertha closed the curtains. 
Icy snowflakes tapped at the window, and the 
wind groaned as it blew down the street be- 
tween the tall buildings. The children waited 
in the firelight for the picnic supper, and 
were very cozy. 

Soon Auntie Bess came with a cloth for the 
tea-table, but Bertha insisted that people never 


83 


84 


Friends of Ours 


used tea-tables at picnics, and when Bridget 
came in with the tea-tray she put it on the 
floor saying, “Did anybody ever see the 
liker’ 

There were good things on that tray, but 
the best of all was the birthday cake that 
Bridget had made. It was dazzling white, 
and there were seven little candles in a ring, 
with a B in silver candies in the center, and 
the candles lighted not only the silver B and 
the pretty cake, but the faces of the three 
who sat upon the rug around the tray. 

As they ate sandwiches and drank cocoa 
Bertha said, “I’ll tell you what will be fun. 
Let’s play we are visiting the friends the 
things on this tray came from, and make each 
other guess.” 

“All right,” said Billy, “I’m visiting my 
friends in California, I don’t believe you can 
go any farther than that, not on this tea- 
tray!” 

“Raisins,” guessed Bertha, “I saw Cali- 
fornia on the box the raisins came in. That’s 


Birthday Candlelight 


85 


how I knew. Aren’t the friends who sent us 
the chocolate far away, too, Auntie Bess?” 

^‘Yes, in the East Indies. The nutmeg in 
the birthday cake came from them, too. Now 
I am in Ireland,” said Auntie Bess. 

‘‘The napkins!” said both children. 

“We know that, because we know about 
Bridget, and the other children — and all the 
grown-up people in the linen mills. You told 
us and so did Bridget,” said Bertha. 

Then Auntie Bess said that she was visit- 
ing the Italians. The children could not 
guess, so she told them about the silver mines, 
and about the Italians who made the silver 
into such pretty spoons. 

“The spoons on the tray came from Italy,” 
she said, “I’m sure it takes as many people 
to make them as it took to make the nap- 
kins.” 

“Miners first,” said Billy, “and last of all, 
the man who put the letters on after the 
spoons are bought, and lots and lots of 
people in between.” 


86 


Friends of Ours 


“Just think how far these things came!' 
Auntie Bess said. “Some came in ships and 
some in trains, packed in boxes, barrels, and 
crates, all coming, coming together to make 
a birthday picnic for Bertha on a snowy 
night.” 

After a while Bertha asked, “How many 
people does it take to run a steamboat r’ 

“A whole crew, of course,” said Billy, 
“and somebody has to pack the things before 
they start. We couldn’t have even one little 
raisin unless about fifty people did some- 
thing about it. Now let’s cut the cake.” 

But before Bertha could cut her dazzling 
white cake she had to make a wish and blow 
out the candles. She thought for a while and 
then she said, 

“I wish for everybody who helped to make 
my birthday picnic so pretty and so good, a 
great many happy birthdays.” 

Then, puff! and all seven of the candles 
went out at once. 




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